


The Nature of The Job

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anger, Angst and Feels, Apologies, Arguing, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Caring, Concern, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Mid-Canon, Panic, Post-Mission, Romance, Surprises, Tenderness, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Roxanne knew that her boyfriend’s job was nothing to take lightly. When he comes home injured, she just wishes that he would stop brushing it off and acknowledge that too.





	The Nature of The Job

Roxanne knew that her boyfriend’s job was nothing to be taken lightly. Caleb— _Silver Shepherd_ —might make halfhearted jokes about it and spare her the details of the fight by simply saying that he’d “given them what for”, but it was her job to see beyond that.

She could feel how he flinched when her hands grazed a tender rib, she could see the outline of the lumpy bandaging under his clothes, and she knew that the oversized gloves he wore were hiding the scrapes and bruises across his hands. He did well at keeping them in his pockets when they were healing.

Today, however, she didn’t have to look nearly as far. As soon as she came home from work, the deep red stains caught her eye—a grisly splash of color in the black and white scene of his suit. Her keys and purse promptly clattered to the floor, abandoned, as she sped across the living room toward the stool he was perched on.

“Caleb!”

“It’s…I-It’s not really that bad,” Silver Shepherd murmured as he drew his left arm in close against his side, smiling weakly up at his girlfriend as she reached him and bent down to inspect him. The amount of blood splashed across his arm was alarming and she gingerly reached out, peeling back the wet, torn fabric to see the gouge he was trying to put pressure on.

“Not that bad?” she echoed in disbelief. “Are you kidding?! You need to go to the hospital!”

“N-No, no, baby, it’s okay. I’m fine—”

“How do I get this off?” she muttered, running her hands up and down his neck until she found the seam that opened and let her peel his mask up and over his head, away from his face. His expression of gentle reassurance and rueful gratitude struck a hard contrast against the angry bruise swelling under his right eye and the dried, stale smudges of blood around his nose and upper lip. Despite herself, despite the fact that she’d _expected_ it, Roxanne was forced to bite back a sob. Backing away and very nearly tripping over her heels, she kicked them off as she spun, dashing toward the kitchen counter and tearing off a copious wad of paper towels to wet under the sink.

“You idiot, you self-sacrificial _idiot_ ,” she hissed under her breath, her heart roiling back and forth in a furious tug-of-war between anger and panic. As she slapped the tap off and returned to him, she could tell by the change in his eyes that he’d overheard her and she accepted that guiltlessly, snapping, “You shouldn’t have to come home looking like this!”

“I know, I know, but it’s the nature of the— _ow_ ,” he broke off with a wince as she gripped his chin and tilted his head up so she could press the damp towels against his split lip. “S’the nature ’f th’ job, Roxy,” he mumbled around the compress, to which she simply shook her head, strands of her auburn hair grazing his cheeks as she leaned in to watch the blood absorb. When they were this close, she could clearly see the streaks of grime clinging to his cheeks. She could smell the sweat and the metallic tang of the blood and it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Once she couldn’t stand to hold it there anymore, she dabbed at his mouth a few times and then stepped back, swallowing hard and turning her attention to his arm. He hadn’t reduced pressure on it, but blood was still oozing through the gaps in his fingers.

“Okay…okay, how do I…?” she began nervously, unconsciously wringing the paper towels in her hands as she peered squeamishly at the gash marring his forearm.

“I already washed it. I just need some medical tape, if you have any—or duct tape works too,” he suggested helpfully, to which she nodded and flung the towels haphazardly at the trash can, not bothering to see if they stuck the landing. Her bathroom cabinets quickly devolved into a disaster as she tore through them for the medical tape, but the mess couldn’t have been further from her mind.

What on earth had done this to him? How could he be so _calm_ about it? Ever since he’d described his superhuman abilities to her, she had always assumed—always hoped—that they would be enough to let him handle any threat that came his way. Come to think of it, she hadn’t asked whether or not he’d _won_ the fight today. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t, he would have been a lot less collected.

In her eyes, only given the opportunity to see the aftermath for him and his poor body, the win wasn’t worth it.

Silver Shepherd hadn’t moved since she’d been gone; he was still sitting on the same stool with his hand protecting the wound, but his demeanor had changed. His shoulders were slumped a little lower and his head was ducked. His eyes were closed, his breath was deeper—had he actually fallen asleep sitting up? No, he sat up straight as soon as he heard her enter the room, automatically forcing a smile. The sight burned her, giving the anger an edge in her internal tug-of-war.  

“You should have gone to the hospital before coming here,” she accused bitterly as she handed him the bandages. Once he started struggling to unroll them one-handed, she snatched them back just as quickly, tearing off long strips and dropping to a crouch. “Or you could have called, at least, to tell me you needed help.”

“Well, you were at work,” he explained ruefully, as if that excused everything. “I didn’t wanna keep you from—”

“Caleb, have you even _looked_ at yourself?” she cut him off, gesturing wildly at everything in front of her. “How long were you sitting here, waiting for me to get home from work, trying to keep yourself from _bleeding out?!_ ”

His brows furrowed at that as he glanced between her and his arm, protesting, “It’s just a scratch, Roxy! I’ve had wor—”

“Don’t start, Caleb. Don’t you dare say that you’ve had worse,” she hissed, trying desperately not to let her voice catch as she applied a strip of tape to one edge of the gash and pushed, drawing a brief, tense breath from him as the pressure from her hand closed the skin and let her smear the tape down firmly on the other side.

She repeated the cycle over and over, back and forth, until the bandage was strapped firmly from his elbow to the bone in his wrist. “I’m not seeing whatever you think is ‘worse’,” she continued tersely as if there hadn’t been any pause at all, rising back to full height. “All I see is _this_ and it’s _bad_ and I don’t ever want to see anything like it again.”

“It’s nothing you and I can’t handle, sweetie,” he assured her, all kindness and earnestness and innocence beneath the dirt staining his face. Roxanne shook slightly where she stood, gritting her teeth as she tried to think of any viable response to that.

“I never… _wanted_ to,” she managed at last, strained and pained. The change in him, the startled confusion that made him tilt his head like a puppy, only made it worse. Breath hitching against the new lump in her throat, she tore her gaze away to blink hard at the floorboards. “I thought I was done with the blood and bruises, Caleb. I thought treating injuries s-stopped when I left Nathan.”

Finally, for the first time since she’d come home, he sobered. He didn’t seem sure how to respond to that, so she heaved a shaky breath, moving toward the bloody paper towels which, as she’d expected, had missed the waste bin.

“…I’m sorry,” Caleb ventured hesitantly after another minute or two, tracking her every move as she went to pick up her fallen purse and her keys. “I know you…you didn’t sign up for this. I—I’ll go to the hospital next time.” When she didn’t respond within the third minute, he fidgeted awkwardly on the stool and impulsively began picking at the bandaging. “Are you mad, Roxy?”

“Only because I wish I didn’t have to see you like this.” Exhaling slowly and tucking her stray hair behind her ears, she tore some fresh paper towels off the roll and ran them under the water. At last she had the thought to pull up another stool in front of him so she could sit as she encouraged him to bend his head. Wiping the dust and sweat from his face was therapeutic in a way and neither of them wanted to spoil its affect, so they kept quiet.

Once she’d paused to lean back and get a better look at any spots she’d missed, he blinked his eyes open and repeated solemnly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag up any old demons by coming home, looking like this.”

By now the raw emotion had cooled into a resigned, almost accepting twinge in her chest; the war had reached a stalemate. Pressing her lips together, she leaned forward enough to rest her forehead against his. All she cared about right now was that he was warm and close and alive.

“You know what they say,” she murmured. “If I didn’t have my demons, I never would have gotten my angels.”


End file.
